


The Stained Glass Trilogy: Past

by ilostmyshoe



Series: Reflections Through Stained Glass [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Characters Reading Fanfiction, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:38:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilostmyshoe/pseuds/ilostmyshoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie asks Sam about Gabriel. It doesn't go so well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stained Glass Trilogy: Past

“Hey, Sam.”

“What’s up?”

“Um, can I ask you a random, potentially awkward question?” Charlie bit her lip and then put on a wide, hopeful grin. It wasn’t remotely convincing.

“If I say, ‘Yes,’ am I going to regret it?”

She shrugged and sat across from him at the table. “Probably.”

He sighed. “I really should know better, but fine. Shoot.”

“Okay.” She folded her hands and leaned forward intently. “So I’ve been reading some stuff on the Supernatural fan blogs . . .”

“And that’s my cue to leave.” Sam pushed his chair away from the table and stood up.

“Wait! Hear me out. Please. I know the books are a sore subject, and you hate talking about them, but I promise my question is relevant to all of this angel drama that we’re dealing with right now.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath before reluctantly settling into his seat again. “Fine. You’ve got two minutes to make your case, and I’m not promising any answers.”

“Great.” She made a face. “Well now I’m nervous about performing under pressure!”

He raised his eyebrows at her and she put her hands up in defense.

“Joking. Sheesh . . . So. There’s this character in the books named Gabriel. He only shows up a couple of times, so I hadn’t thought that much about him, but when I started looking at stuff online I found out that he’s a fan favorite. And I realized that he was really the first angel that you guys ever met, even if you didn’t know he was an angel at the time, so maybe discussing your interactions with and feelings about him could give us some ideas about how to deal with all of the fallen angels. What do you think?”

Sam shook his head. “Charlie, I swear to God . . . Look. I know you mean well, but can you just think for a moment about those interactions that we had with Gabriel? Especially the one in Florida? Is it so difficult to understand why I’d rather _not_ talk about that? _Ever_?”

“Oh. Shit. Right. I’m sorry.” She had the grace to look genuinely chagrined. “I guess I didn’t think . . . I’m really sorry, Sam.”

“It’s fine. Whatever. Just . . . don’t do it again, okay? And we’ll forget you ever brought it up. Except, actually, before we drop it– _forever_ –explain one thing. Why the hell are you asking _me_ in the first place? I’d have thought you and Dean were more on the “ask super awkward and inappropriately personal questions” level of friendship than you and I are. No offense.” The growing tension in his face and voice belied his casual words, and he punctuated his final words with a thin-lipped smile that bordered on a level 3 bitchface.

“Well,” Charlie started, hesitantly. “I thought about talking to Dean, but the books showed so much more interaction between you and Gabriel, and, well,  theinternettotallyshipsyou.”

“Ships?” Sam’s eyebrows skyrocketed. “As in the internet thinks that I have–or, I guess, had–a sexual relationship with the archangel Gabriel? Are these are the same people that think I fuck my brother on a regular basis?”

“Well, technically they’re usually the ones who believe your brother and Cas are hooking up. See, there’s this whole Wincest/Destiel divide . . .”

“Stop. Charlie, just, please. For the love of all that’s holy, don’t say another word.”

She closed her mouth with a snap and looked at him with horrified eyes. The silence stretched between them for what felt like hours, several degrees past painfully awkward.

Finally Dean wandered in and broke the spell. “Hey guys. What’s going on? Anything I should know about?”

Charlie almost knocked her chair over scrambling to get up and away from the table. “Nope. Nothing going on here. Nothing at all. I’m just gonna . . . um . . . go talk to Kevin about . . . uh . . . nerd stuff. Yeah. Stupid, mindless nerd stuff that has absolutely nothing to do with anyone’s real or hypothetical personal life. Okay? Cool. See you guys later and stuff. Bye.” She threw out one last, strained grin and fled the room.

Dean stared after her and then turned to Sam in confusion. “What the hell’s going on with her?”

Sam just closed his eyes and let his head drop heavily onto his folded arms.

*   *   *   *   *

Later, however, the conversation nagged at him. He tried to ignore it, told himself that he had better things to worry about. He translated some texts and added more works into the digital catalogue he was creating for the Men of Letters’ library. He managed to distract himself for most of the day, but that evening, after everyone else had retreated to their separate rooms, he yielded to his curiosity. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, opened his laptop and, against his better judgment, typed in the relevant search terms.

After five minutes he tossed back the rest of his drink and poured himself another. After fifteen minutes he bypassed the cup and went straight for the bottle. After thirty minutes he stared at his trembling hand wrapped tightly around the bottle’s neck and remembered staggering to the center of a crossroads, the visceral satisfaction of hurling a man-made hunk of glass out into empty space. He bit his lip and gently placed the bottle back on the table, restoring the cap with exaggerated care before burying his face in his hands.

Sure, he’d known that braving the internet had been a bad idea, but some part of him had hoped that reading ideas and stories from people who liked the trickster might be cathartic. He couldn’t bring himself to read the books featuring Gabriel–those events were far too painful for him to ever to consider reliving–but searching for Gabriel fans had seemed like a reasonable way to invoke his positive memories of the angel. Of course, reason and logic had never kept luck from screwing Sam over, so why had he pretended that they would start now?

He just couldn’t understand where these people had gotten such a twisted understanding of the angel. The “Gabe” that so many of them described was a shallow stranger. They wrote as though he was simple and approachable, like a piece of candy that you could buy at the corner store, keep in your pocket, and pop into your mouth whenever you felt like it. Gabriel had never been a piece of goddamn candy, not for anyone.

No. Gabriel wasn’t candy. He was a stained glass window, high and inaccessible. He bent the light to fit his every whim, shifting from brilliant to dazzling to blinding and back again with barely a thought. His visage was constantly changing with the movement of the sun or the reflected glow of candles at the night. Though every image bore his mark, he never revealed his true face.

He was never intended for close human interaction or sustained human contact. He was fascinating and beautiful but also ancient and deadly. Time had covered him with a dusting of oxidized lead, with a touch it might clog your lungs and poison your blood. And for all of his hidden strength and dazzling beauty, when he broke he shattered completely, a deadly rain of colored glass heedless of the collateral damage.

Sam ran his fingers through his hair, shook his head, and raised his empty glass in hollow tribute. To his angel. To shattered dreams that never were. Trying to collect the broken shards and fit the pieces back together had left him with only a shredded heart and a drunken penchant for grandiose extended metaphors.  


End file.
